


Gold

by annunziatina



Series: "Nobel" Metals (A Noah x Isobel Coda Series) [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Missing Scene, Not Beta Read, Submissive Noah Bracken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annunziatina/pseuds/annunziatina
Summary: (Takes place during Episode 101: Pilot)Isobel has just heard Max's plea for help through her psychic connection.  This can be read as a stand-alone or the first part of the whole.  It explores Noah's POV of Isobel dashing out of the house in the middle of their bedroom play.





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> gold  
> noun  
> a yellow precious metal, the chemical element of atomic number 79, used especially in jewelry and decoration and to guarantee the value of currencies
> 
> (Definition: Oxford Dictionary)

Noah falls back against the mattress as Isobel scurries around the room. His eyes follow her hands, those that were just moments ago securing ties to his ankles from the bedpost. Truth be told, Noah doesn’t need restraints to be held in place for Isobel. From the beginning, all it has ever taken is a look, a touch, the utterance of his name from her lips. But, my God, does it feel good to strain against her bonds.

In her haste, Isobel nearly trips over the clothes discarded haphazardly underfoot. It’s not their style to leave the room in such a state. She scowls at the floor before scooping up her blouse. 

Noah thinks to apologize for the mess, but he doesn’t. If he’s learned anything in life, it’s that words can be empty and mean less. While Isobel handles whatever business she’s suddenly remembered, Noah will tidy their space. The praise received after a task completed is worth far more than the thanks given after the offer to perform said task. 

Isobel tugs on her shirt and Noah watches with hooded eyes. She had allowed him to peel that blouse off, over her head, before he’d even shucked his own shoes. The temptation to put his mouth to her skin, then, had been undeniable. He had asked and she had granted enthusiastic permission. Isobel’s body had been cool and smooth against his lips when he kissed a line up her stomach, between her breasts, to her neck. Now, Noah passes his tongue over his bottom lip. He tastes the citrus scented lotion that lingers still and keens. 

Noah’s eyes close at the memory of nuzzling along Isobel’s clavicle. He arches his back, remembering Isobel's nails dragging down his sides, and the ties at his wrists groan as they are pulled taught. Even over his dress shirt, her nails had been sharp enough to send shivers through his veins.

Next, he'd found the fresh dab of perfume hidden in the hollow of her neck. It had filled Noah’s nose and overwhelmed his senses. He'd had to lean into Isobel as his knees went weak. The new scent had been placed there deliberately for him, waiting for his return from the office. As soon as he realized Isobel's intention, the burden of Noah's day had fallen away. 

Noah lifts his nose to the air and Isobel is a breeze of floral perfume as she rushes past the bed. The scent has immediately become his new favorite. He wishes Isobel would tell him this whirlwind - the ‘getting ready to leave’ - is truly all part of their play. He thinks he'll readily, eagerly forgive her for altering the scene without discussing their terms ahead of time. 

Staring at the rope ornament chandelier hanging directly above the bed, Noah sets his jaw. He knows Isobel isn't one to break their rules, to break his trust. 

Her little joke about hoverboarding aside, Noah knows she's serious about leaving. She's serious about her need to leave.

The twin thunks of heeled shoes dropping to the floor draw Noah’s eyes to Isobel again. He can just barely make out her position, so he stretches further. His shoulder aches, but he needs to see her.

She’s near the bathroom, leaning on the wall as she slides on her shoes. Her handbag is already in her possession. Noah whimpers when he realizes she’s practically out the door and he can't quite meet her eye. 

Isobel makes another brief apology. 

Noah tilts his head all the way back until, finally, her face comes into view. The position curves his spine enough that his shoulders lift from the bed. “Is,” he says, trying to sound neutral. His thumb turns the wedding band on his finger absentmindedly. 

Their gazes lock and Isobel’s urgency falters, her expression softens. Noah's breath hitches as she approaches the bed. Noah has no right to think that Isobel might not leave - not without him asking her to stay - but the thought exists. 

Isobel’s heels click against the hardwood before crossing onto the carpet. With a caress to Noah’s face, she tells him, “Thank you.”

Noah flushes as her knuckles graze his jaw, ear to chin. He knows what her thank yous mean, knows that they are weighted even beyond what he and Isobel agreed upon. In two words Isobel expresses gratitude for Noah’s trust, his submission, and understanding - for not asking too many questions. She thanks him for staying - and for staying out of the way. 

Noah indulges himself in the gentle support of Isobel cradling his cheek, leans into the touch of her fingertips moving slowly behind his ear. 

Her kiss is a firm press of lips to his. Then, the sense of emergency returns to her eyes. She reiterates her apology and turns to the door.

Isobel's footsteps echo down the open staircase and through the great room. The quick clicks of her heels are followed by the slam of the front door as she darts out of the house.

With a sigh, Noah rolls his wrists, starting to unwrap the restraints. Suddenly, he has new cause to be grateful that Isobel liked to watch him break free of her bindings.

Having the house to himself is not unlike the nights of his childhood where one or both of his parents were gone, working a late shift or running off to take care of some mess his grandfather had gotten into. Back then Noah had grown used to an empty house, weeknight or weekend. It was far less chaotic than having someone home with him. And now, in a house of his own, sharing with the love of his life, a little solitude doesn’t really bother him. He’ll get cleaned up, have something to eat, and disappear into _Game of Thrones_ while he waits for Isobel to return. 

Tonight was supposed to be different, but Noah can’t hold whatever reason she'd been pulled away against her. She'll explain when she got back - if not to him, then to Max or Michael. Between the three of them, Isobel will always have someone she can turn to. She'll always be well taken care of. 

Noah gives his wrists another twist and the fabric that holds his arms wide has unwound enough; the loosened loops allow his hands to sneak out. He’ll tell Isobel it is far easier to slip out of the silk ties than the ropes they’d used days prior. And she'll be encouraged to know the silk doesn’t dig into his wrists the way the cuffs do; they had both been surprised to find that even the padded cuffs leave bruises after a while. 

Remembering the looks he’d gotten when dropping off Mrs. Evans at her Bridge Club, Noah rubs his wrists and sits up. Though Noah cherishes any sign of Isobel left on him after they have had their fun, he prefers the privacy of marks hidden under his clothes to those that need to be strategically hidden by sleeves and watchbands. 

It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of his relationship with his wife. Sometimes he doubts whether Max and Michael really approve, though Noah hopes they recognize how much he cares for their sister and closest friend.

With his hands free to roam, Noah examines the fresh blooms of purple and red Isobel had sucked onto his chest. He presses his fingertips into the tender flesh and hums.

Unlike the rope burns on his wrists, when these blemishes fade, he yearns for them. They remind him he and Isobel belong to each other. No matter how many times Michael and Max are entrusted with Isobel's problems, instead of him, they would never get Isobel’s marks. Noah can tell himself that with a fair amount of certainty. 

First, because Michael walks around with his shirt half open like he's afraid body hair is going out of style. Noah has seen enough of Michael’s chest and neck to know that man doesn’t wear hickies. 

And as for the bites? Noah smiles to himself as he smooths his hands over the insides of his thighs. 

Noah has picked up Isobel from Michael’s Airstream enough times to see the guy in his boxers; Michael’s thighs are bare. Sure, Noah is a little embarrassed for letting his eyes drift, but… really, Michael had answered (and continues to answer) the door in his underwear while Noah’s then fiance (now wife) crashed in his bed. Noah can’t blame himself for checking. 

_“Come on, man,” Michael had said easily before welcoming Noah inside his trailer for the first time, “with that apnea? I take my chances on the couch.”_

_Heh, yeah,_ Noah thought then, and believes to this day, _Michael would sleep on a lawn chair, if need be to escape._ There’s nothing sexy about being stuck on a narrow mattress with someone snoring into your face unless you’re really in love with them. Lucky for Noah, he doesn’t think he could possibly love anyone or anything more than he does Isobel - even on nights when her breathing sounds like a lumber yard and he can’t get a wink of sleep.

Second was Max: the only other person Isobel spends quality time with. The mere notion of physical intimacy between Isobel and Max draws a chuckle from Noah’s chest. He doesn’t believe Isobel could do what they do with her brother. The twins are _close_ ; they share a connection Noah can’t seem to fathom, but, my God, they aren’t Lannisters.

No. Isobel will never treat Michael or Max with the same care she saves for Noah. She’ll never look at Michael or Max the way she looks at Noah. Even if she hadn't assured him more than a dozen times in the early months of their relationship, Noah knows it to be true. The other guys, they don’t fit the bill; they don’t _get it_.

Noah and Isobel _fit_ , they _work_ , together; the gold bands they wear on their hands declare it to the world as surely as their last names do. Isobel has taken Noah’s last name and proudly links it with her own; the world sees she and Noah are a unit, at a glance. Noah wears a ring on his finger and her marks underneath his clothes. While couples around them dissolve and crumble, their marriage seems impervious. Isobel waxes poetic about what a thoughtful, supportive, and devoted husband she has to anyone who will listen. Noah maintains a strong relationship with his in-laws and helps Max keep Michael out of serious trouble. The affections they enjoy in public satisfy without crossing a line into small-town indecency. Noah can't help but think his and Isobel's faithfulness to each other is apparent to those around them. Theirs is a love she doesn't share with anyone else.

Noah bends forward to unfasten his ankles and lets the slips of silk hang to the floor. Instead of fumbling with them and making things worse, Noah leaves the neckties firmly knotted to the bedposts and goes about tidying the room. Isobel is the better of them at tying and untying knots, anyway - both literally and figuratively. Whatever errand to which she is attending will be better for her hand in it. 

Of course, Noah can take two guesses who has asked her to run this errand, but it doesn’t matter. Really, it doesn’t. Isobel’s loyalty to Max and Michael is a character strength, not a flaw. 

The tether holding Noah to Isobel is a strong one, far stronger than any knot or rope or bedpost. Noah’s marriage to Isobel is the most stable one he has seen. Their relationship has been that way from the beginning - kindred spirits. Isobel doesn’t demand more than Noah can give, and she is clear about where her boundaries lay. They don't _do_ surprises and they don’t express a wish for change. 

Noah divides the dry cleaning from the wash as he gathers the used clothes from the room. Both he and Isobel thrive on order and planning. Their need to anticipate and prepare for what is coming ahead of them means lack of spontaneity in their lives serves them well.

As Noah closes the lid on the now full laundry basket, he considers the bed. _Fresh sheets and the thick comforter_ , he decides. Isobel runs cold in times of stress. Dealing with a last minute Michael and Max emergency will probably trigger such a response. 

The steamy shower Noah takes, after the bedroom is put to rights, is an indulgence. Much like the way he had allowed himself to lean into Isobel’s touches when laid out under her on the bed, or how he had reverently traced the marks Isobel had left on his body before fully removing his bonds, Noah languishes under the hot water - all pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

There are no rules that say he can’t take matters into his own hands on nights like this, nights when play with Isobel is cut short. But tonight, Noah came home expressly interested in spending time with, making love to, his wife. Without her, he isn’t feeling up for anything less. 

Noah sighs as he scrubs away the weight of the day. A familiar tension has been creeping in since Isobel hurried out. He catches it early and imagines that a second lather will cleanse him before it permeates his skin.

Interruptions at night are such a rare occurrence, Noah reminds himself. Whatever had called Isobel away must be time sensitive. The revelation - knowing his wife will be back soon - relaxes him. He tips his chin to his chest, as if Isobel were there to see him give in to the situation and offer her praise. The warm spray washes over him, his arms and head go limp, and soap glides in rivulets from his body. The white suds pool at his feet before disappearing down the drain. 

_It had been a tedious day at the office, preparing for trial, but he had been clear with Isobel about his concerns about the case, how it threw him off kilter. And she promised, despite how busy she was planning the V.A. fundraiser, that their activities this week would go forward as planned._

_The reassurance had gotten him through the day - meetings with his associates, meetings with opposing counsel, meetings with clients - as her assertions always do. Still, Noah had taken one look at his desk calendar that afternoon and shot off a text to his wife._

__**If I have to attend one more meeting, I’m gonna lose it, Is.** __

_She knew him well enough to know he was exaggerating. She knew him well enough to read the hard line of truth in the message, as well._

_**When do you get off?** _

_Noah’s hand squeezed around the phone at her teasing reply. A blush crept up from his collar and heated his ears. As he thought of a response, he wondered where Isobel would be as she read it: the 4-H Club, the V.A., City Hall?_

_**What time will you be home?** Isobel clarified when he had taken a beat too long to reply. **Can you endure one last meeting in the bedroom? I’ll make it special for you.**_

Noah smiles at the memory, at how she supports him in the ways only she knows how. Isobel has to know that since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, every moment in her presence has solidified her place in his heart.

Noah dries and dresses and takes another lap around the bedroom. He adds an extra blanket, folded at the foot bed for Isobel, just in case. After being startled into action by some nondescript recollection, he can’t imagine she’ll return home in the best of moods. For both of their sakes, he hopes her errand will come to a quick end so that she can get a good night’s sleep.

In the kitchen, Noah prepares a late dinner: something spicy and enough to share. It isn't often he finds someone who shares his tastes - in food, in lifestyle, in the bedroom. But Isabel is different. Life with Isabelle is different. 

Raised in a home where he never knew what was expected of him, where what was acceptable one day earned him _‘consequences’_ the next, Noah survived on egg shells. Living in a house where the utility bills were paid in rotation because that money had been stolen by his grandfather to feed his addiction or given to his grandfather to treat his addiction, he’d found ways to block out emotion. Being a kid and opening the pantry and the fridge and never knowing what he’d find, Noah learned to live in hunger, with an emptiness that couldn’t be filled with food alone. Noah grew up feeling a profound loss of control in everything, and Isobel sympathizes. Maybe more. Maybe, somehow, she understands what it’s like to live in a state of nebulous fear. 

So they don’t live that way. In their home there is no tip-toeing, no nervousness caused by obscurity. The life they maintain for themselves is regimented and explicit in their communication of what they need from each other- 

Noah checks his phone. _No new messages._

-And right now, Isobel needs to take care of _whatever_. Noah knows that if she needs him, she will call; if he needs her, he can do the same and she will come home. 

He derives comfort from knowing that she only left because she could see that he was okay. She had unwound him enough to no longer feel frustrated by what had happened at the office. If he had asked her to stay back then, in the bedroom, Noah knows she would have.

He plates his chicken over a small bed of rice and a flicker of doubt shoots through his mind like the flash of gold in a pan. Noah looks down at his hands, the wedding band on his finger catching the hood light of the stove, and rolls his eyes at himself. 

_Of course, she would have stayed._

Nonetheless, his stomach churns and drops. 

Noah manages two bites of food before he can’t eat anymore. He rubs at his drooping eyes and his mind slows. It’s been such a long day, Noah can’t decide if his mind is clouded by anger or sadness or if he’s just too damn tired to think. He places the plate and pan of leftovers in the fridge just as they are. Isobel can reheat them if she likes.

The desire to lie down envelops Noah like a fog and the couch in the great room seems like a comfortable option. Among the throw pillows and handwoven blankets, Noah curls up against the armrest of the sofa. The television flashes in front of him, but the moving pictures serve to hypnotize rather than entertain. Eventually, Noah falls asleep with his phone in his hand and Isobel's absence on his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
